Swim Away

Cornered

If you gaze too long into the void, the void will gaze back.

You stared at the '42' number on the rough-surfaced piece of paper on your palm, pout intensify. It'll be not so bad if there were 100 guests, but with 42 people left, the thought of being in the last group to jump off while other guests are already refreshed and back in the buses is not exactly your best thought.

A friendly Asian journalist on vacation, Cindy Mu, told you that the kayaking from yesterday was ended earlier than planned because many people had been injured thanks to their own carelessness—which is why you couldn't find KnockOut yesterday, and why Ratchet was not chopping down the trees to find you in the woods since they're too busy tending 58 guests, ranging from twisted ankles to broken arms; no wonder there's much less of the guests than yesterday's number.

(Yet your name still managed to catch the last number)

And also resulted in the Head Guard to demanded requested numbers that determine which guest's turn to participate and which guest that has to sit down nicely without wreaking havoc nor commotion so that no one would get hurt again.

"Bah, people," you muttered as you bottom up your Coke, feeling the carbonated drink burns your throat nicely, "No wonder I can't find Ratchet anywhere since I got off the bus. If I have to watch after more than 50 fully grown people to make sure they won't push each other while lining up, I'd rather fake my death instead."

Cindy hummed thoughtfully. The 4 other guests that are supposed to be your group's members had gone to be their favorite person before your group's turn, but you stayed at your current table to avoid unnecessary contact for a while, and Cindy stayed because she's already too comfy to move away.

So here you are, gossiping about stuff and all, since both of your phones died, and that satellite phone doesn't include any gaming application.

"But Doctor Ratchet would come today," she told you as she sips her iced lemonade, "Right after he, and I quote, 'make sure these whiny brats will not ruin their bandages'," then she used her straw to stir her lemonade again, trying to rouse more sweet flavor from the unmixed sugar at the bottom of her glass, "He's pretty dedicated, eh?"

"Yeah," you agreed, taking another sip of your coke. The sun still shines brightly, this time without fluffy with clouds to cover earth from its merciless rays. The only protection for you were the large umbrellas above your heads. The jumping platform is built on the west, wasting its shade to covers the cliff beneath when it could cover the guests on east instead. Sometimes the breeze came, blowing dry wind in your direction.

The waiters, thankfully now in purple shirt and black shorts (or you'll write a complaint letter to Megatron for practically enslaving his staff), are still walking back and forth either to serve the awaiting guests or to help first ten guest preparing their equipment and mentality before jumping from 32ft height to the streaming river below. You think you heard one blonde told a waiter to told her mom she still loves her, despite the last fight she had with her. The waiter nods in an assuring manner, so friendly close you think he'd be starting to petting her locks.

"By the way, how did you know that much?"

"Oh, honey," Cindy flicked a stray hair from her round face, looking even more proud of herself, "When looking for information for things you have no idea of, you just have to find the right person to talk with."

Suddenly Cindy lifts her right arm and waves it to someone behind you. You whipped your head around, half expecting Hot Rod, Steve or Starscream to wave back, but instead, you found the buff version of Steve, visibly startling when he notices the wave is indeed for him.